


Ashes of Division

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: April Showers Challenge 2011, Song Lyric Title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-30
Updated: 2003-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:43:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Soundtrack: Linkin Park - Nobody's Listening</p>
    </blockquote>





	Ashes of Division

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: Linkin Park - Nobody's Listening

  
Sean's Adidas trainers were making a trail of blood trickle down from just below his knee. The tread with tiny rocks stuck in the oddest of places, and he found it almost curious that his slacks weren't ripping from the constant pacing of his left foot up and down his right calf. He sat in his living room, brandy glass planted picariously in his dangling fingers, and he swirled the stem around while he listened to Viggo talk. The pain was to remind him not to talk, to remind him to stay silent. Everything was his fault, according to Viggo, and it wouldn't do to contradict him. Just let Viggo get it all out and then get out. Less pain, less blood, less chance of splintering the shards of their breaking relationship.

"But no one can resist you, can they, Sean? No, you won't let them. You drag them into your parlor like you're the spider and all of us, we're the flies hoping for your notice. Then you use and discard at will. Eat us up, take our...our want, and use it against us."

So I'm a manipulator, Sean thought. It was nothing new. Abby had used almost the exact same speech on him. But it didn't change anything. He had actually thought he had found someone who cared, not someone who only wanted the Great Sean Bean, actually thought love had a chance this time. But of course not. The evil minions of Fate wouldn't let him. Heaven forbid Sean Bean ever found true happiness. Would probably disrupt the fabric of time, or something like that.

But he had thought Viggo would be different. Maybe it was the artist soul, the sheer animalistic creativity of the man. Sean had thought he had the aura of permanence about him.

A sob caught his throat, choked him before he could force it down. Until death do they part, three times he had sworn, three times it had ended. He shouldn't have let himself believe anything different. Viggo didn't have wanderlust, but he didn't have normal lusts either. He saw things in colors and lines and shapes of dreams. Sean wasn't a black-and-white person himself, he had played far too many villains for that, but he always tended to see things linerally. 'A' plus 'B' equaled 'C'. Sean plus Viggo equaled completion. Or maybe it was only Aragorn and Boromir, and Viggo had been channeling Aragorn for too long to realize that, no, of course he didn't want some damn bloody Brit. Too little in common, for one thing, and far too much seperating them.

"No one bends it like Beckham," had been Sean's first comment to Viggo. In some bar, some restaurant, and watching some damned game. Sean had been mournful. Blades were behind and shooting was a tight bitch hoping to suck every penny out of him. Or maybe that was just Abby.

"Do you know that from experience?" American drawl almost humorless but Sean had smiled.

"They'd call me a bloody traitor, bugger it all."

Viggo just hadn't understood. And there was so much Sean didn't understand about Viggo. About Manet, about Renior, about Impressionists and landscapes, and telling a story through interconnecting lines and dashes, circles and squares. Sean wasn't a damn fool; he knew Da Vinci from _David_ , and could ramble on about poetry and Shakespeare and Marlowe. He could quote Milton and Donne and knew all the primary colors. He could even hold his own about certain members of Parliament. Sean knew a lot, by conventional standards. He just didn't know Viggo.

He knew the way Viggo could arch in bed, hands everywhere at once, lips with grateful suction at the base of Sean's spine. He knew how Viggo could smile before nibbling at Sean's ankle, knew how Viggo could take him, take him all. He knew how Viggo could beg for more, dammit, more, you bloody heathen, knew how Viggo could take it as slow or a fast as he wanted. Knew how Viggo could give as good as he got. He even knew how Viggo liked his coffee.

He could claim to know Viggo's deepest fears about being with someone too long that they become boring, about suddenly never being inspired by the things around him, by stagnation. By a stalemate in life more than just in chess. Sean could claim to know a lot of things about Viggo, by set standards.

But he didn't _know_ Viggo.

Didn't know how Viggo could bear standing in front of him, gesticlating wildly, puncturing every few sentences with some profanity in a language Sean would never profess to knowing. Didn't know how Viggo couldn't understand the depth of feeling that overfilled the well inside Sean's soul, didn't know how Viggo could mistake affection for indifference.

He didn't know how Viggo could mistake himself for Sean's whore.

"You're going back in a few days. You're probably overjoyed to get away from me and this place. But when you come back, Sean Bean, you shouldn't expect me to be here, waiting patiently for you even though you've obviously moved on. Don't lie to me, I know you're about to throw me away. And, honestly, I couldn't care less."

Tear my chest open now and I will not bleed, for you have taken my heart and trampled it to pieces, all in the name of love.

"See, Sean, you're not the only one who can play the field. You're not the only one who can go from lover to lover without blinking. You're not the only one who can be unfeeling, who can pretend the pretence so well that the other is so enthralled he doesn't realize the pain."

Liar, I've held you at night. I've listened to your tears and soothed your pain. I would protect you to the end. Why must you throw up a wall that I cannot surmount?

"Don't bite your lip, _luv_ , it's not becoming in the least. And if you start bleeding, it won't heal by tomorrow. You don't want Peter to wonder. And then perhaps the tabloids would get ahold of it. What'd be your excuse then, Sean? 'The fag I put out on my tongue missed'?" Rueful laughter and Sean's heart broke a little more. "Well, this fag is gone, having been put off by your tongue far too often."

I only ever wanted to hold you. To love you.

"But don't worry, Sean. I won't let the door hit me on the way out."

I'd hold it open for you, never let anything hurt you.

"Oh, and good luck to your precious Blades. I know they're playing later in the day." Viggo was much too civilized to slam the door, but the bang resonated deep within Sean, made him drop the glass almost in reflex. The shards cut through his jeans, dripping more blood into the tears his heart was shedding like a snake's skin.

Sean laughed at the sight he would present to the emergency room. Half-crazed Anglo-Saxon, bloody bugger, cut himself with the fruit of his own destruction. Couldn't be trusted with anything precious or beautiful, or even simply wonderful.

Sean laughed. And when he finished laughing, he cried.  
   
 


End file.
